FIC: Choices, 7/?, R/NC17, W/R R/G W/f

DISCLAIMERS POSTED IN PART 0 * * * Everything you say to me Takes me one step closer to the edge And I m about to break I need a

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, Jul 12, 2001

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DISCLAIMERS POSTED IN PART 0

* * *
"Everything you say to me
Takes me one step closer to the edge
And I'm about to break
I need a little room to breathe
Cause I'm one step closer to the edge
And I'm about to break"
 "One Step Closer," by Linkin Park

* * *

"*Where the hell have you been*?!" was the greeting as he walked into the
room.

"Out," he replied succinctly.

As he hung his jacket up in the closet, she came up behind him and
sniffed him. He had gotten cleaned up before returning to Westchester,
but knew that it would require a fair bit of time in the shower to get
rid of the smell of sex, especially with her heightened senses to fool.
He hadnt felt like making that kind of an effort, especially when he
didnt much care if Cicely knew what hed been doing or not. So he hadnt
bothered.

"*Who was she*!?!"

He frowned thoughtfully. "Cant quite remember her name. Candy, Cindy?
Connie? Something like that." He stepped away from the closet, having to
brush past Ciss to get by.

She had frozen in shock at his rather brazen reaction. It was ridiculous
of her to expect him to deny the truth when he knew that she could smell
it on him, so perhaps it was his total lack of shame that had floored
her.

Anger melted the ice, and she turned on him. "*What the HELL did you
think you were doing*?!"

He gave her a mild look  deliberately, aggravatingly unconcerned. "I was
getting laid  what did you *think* I was doing?"

Which was when he found himself examining the carpet from extremely close
range. [What the hell...?] His jaw hurt, briefly, before the ache faded
away in the time it took him to realize, [She hit me. The bitch hit
me...]

The first impulse was to surge to his feet and respond in kind. What
stopped him was simple.

She was his wife.

That was right up there with abandoning a gal after getting her knocked
up  no, worse. Abandoning a woman and your future child was criminally
irresponsible  but beating up on your wife or girl was actively evil.

Aside from the extremely special case of combat training, You Did Not Hit
Your Woman. Ever. *Ever*.

Which left him wondering how the hell to react. He got up off the floor,
carefully, taking his time because of the pause it afforded him to think.
He was carefully expressionless when, on his feet once more, he finally
raised his face to hers.

Cissy looked shocked, perhaps even remorseful  but as his gaze met hers
and she realized that he was waiting for her cue to respond, something
flickered through her eyes. Not regret. Not apology.

Logan recognized it, even lasting for only a fraction of a second.

Contempt.

Then she quickly turned and left the room.

[Well, hell,] he thought, suddenly tired. [I deserved that. Running off
like that, cheating on her, not having enough respect for her not to go
throwing it in her face... I deserved all of it.]

Even the contempt.

No, *especially* the contempt.

* * *

Regret can be a lingering emotion  but it doesnt always pop up when it
would be the most useful. Logan felt bad about running out on Cissy like
that for a few days  but then the aggravations started to pile up again,
and perhaps a week later he found himself riding his Harley out the front
gates once more.

Her reaction on his return was largely similar to the first time, though
again he was surprised at the blow. Wiping the blood from the
already-healing cut on his lip, he regarded his wife with more
astonishment than anger, and when she determinedly changed the subject a
moment later he was relieved to do so.

He certainly knew the expression, "Begin as you mean to go on," but he
wasnt thinking of it at the time. Perhaps if hed realized what kind of
precedents were being set for his marriage, he would have acted to change
things  but its difficult to know how he might have been able to, given
the constraints of the situation he found himself in and his own
character.

* * *
Okay, folks, that's all for now! But don't worry -- not only is more
"Practice" finally on the way, but I've got another chunk of this one
waiting for about a scene and a half to be written before I'll post it,
plus I've got the beginnings of a completely *different* story well under
way...

FyrDrakken
She Whose Quotations Are Both Exotic and Appropriate
Keeper of his Deadly Startle Reflexes, Guardian and Examiner of the
Adamantium-Revealing X-Rays, and Official Listener for the Occasional
Aussie Vowels